


all precious things

by crownedcarl



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, Gen, M/M, Memory Alteration, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus has expensive taste; Alec is the prettiest face on the block.</p><p>(04/09/2016: THIS STORY IS ON AN INDEFINITE HIATUS. UPDATES MAY COME INFREQUENTLY.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. louder than sirens

**Author's Note:**

> yesterday i didn't care about shadowhunters. today i wrote 6k of malec hooker!au. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> about the 'memory alteration' tag: i chose this tag for this fic because it comes the closest, i feel, to warning readers for magnus's memory-wiping abilities and his other less morally upstanding warlock tricks, including subjecting people to illusions etc.
> 
> my knowledge of the canon mythology is based entirely on the show; even so, i'm prone to tweaking the mythology & abilities of certain creatures to better suit the plot. you have been warned.
> 
> chapter title from florence and the machine's 'drumming song'. tags will be added for upcoming chapters once they're posted. until then, enjoy this Sin.

Alec is far from dressed for the cold wind that’s dominating the streets of Brooklyn at this time of year.

Across the road, he can see Isabelle leaning against a brick wall, laughing with the local girls and the nervous men that tend to linger at this time of night. She’s above their pay grade and as much as Alec dislikes seeing her getting into cheap cars for cheap pay, it’s been a long time since he had any say in what she does.

Besides, he has his own problems to worry about.

He huffs a breath and rubs his palms across his thighs; the too-tight denim rubs against his skin in all the wrong ways, but he’s beyond caring. There’s not a whole lot of technique to this other than standing around and looking pretty, hoping some lost soul will come along and pay too much for an hour of his time.

It’s been a slow night. Alec has been feeling particularly confrontational tonight, snapping at anyone that comes too close or looks at him in the wrong way but by now, he should be used to being looked at ‘the wrong way’. Isabelle insists that if he’d just smile once in a while, he’d be scoring as many clients as she does on a nightly basis.

Whatever, Alec thinks, watching the bar across the street, eyes caught on the neon lights. He’s itching for something to come along; that something looks a lot like a hundred-dollar bill, but he doesn’t exactly have the right to be picky. Isabelle has been covering his percentage of the rent for a while now.

A car slows, and then rolls up. Alec glances at it and wonders what kind of person in a limousine would be stupid enough to come to this part of town; if they’re looking for directions, they’ll learn that none of Alec’s services come free.

The window rolls down. The driver is nondescript, but Alec lets himself take a good hard look before saying “Can I help you?” in a tone that suggests that the right answer better be no or promising a lot of hard cash.

“My employer requires your company.”

It figures, Alec thinks, that he ends up with the freaks and perverts. Only a certain kind of man would send a chauffeur to pick up his hookers.

“Yeah?” Alec challenges, scoffing as he leans more heavily against the wall, catching Isabelle’s eyes from across the street. Her eyebrows are raised; he can’t remember the last time she took a ride in a limousine and it’s either envy or surprise that colors her features. “Haven’t you heard of stranger danger? I’m not getting in that car.”

“I assure you,” the man bites out, “That whatever price you demand, my employer will match.”

Alright, then.

“You sure about that, boss?” Alec grins, walking closer until he can brace himself with an elbow on the roof of the car, only realizing then that he’s freezing. “Alright, then – five thousand for the privilege of one hour with me? That sound like something your _employer_ can do?”

“Yes,” the man replies. “He’s had his eye on you for quite some time.”

“And that isn’t creepy at all,” Alec mutters, but against his better judgement, he gets into the car.

-

He hasn’t spent a lot of time in upscale hotels. That’s always been more of Isabelle’s thing and Alec feels more uncomfortable in the lobby as he waits for the elevator than he did freezing his ass off out on the street. The chauffeur or henchman or whatever he’s supposed to be had told him to be in the penthouse suite for when his ever-mysterious _employer_ arrives, but Alec finds himself fidgeting as he closes the door behind himself.

There’s a note on the little table by the door. _Clean up, if you wish. Treat yourself to the wine. I look forward to finally meeting you in person._

The guy is either a serial killer or just filthy rich, Alec thinks, stripping out of his shirt on the way to the bathroom. His phone buzzes with a message from Isabelle that only tells him that if he hasn’t gotten back to her in an hour, she’s calling the cops.

Alec rolls his eyes, and then turns the shower on. It’s heavenly to finally get warm, but after soaking for a good ten minutes, Alec steps out and scrutinizes himself in the mirror. 

He looks tired, but there’s nothing to be done about that. He supposes it doesn’t matter. If this guy has really spent time and effort on watching him, he shouldn’t be expecting their meeting to take a page out of _Pretty Woman_.

It’s not that Alec doesn’t need saving; he just doesn’t want it.

“Good evening.”

That goddamn unexpected voice startles Alec enough that he nearly loses the grip he has on the towel around his waist. He whips around and whatever he imagined this guy would look like, he’s met with a sight he couldn’t possibly have prepared himself for.

For one thing, he’s beautiful. Dark leather pants, red shirt shimmering like silk, intricate rings adorning each and every finger – not to mention the eyes, lined with kohl, a smile curving luscious lips as the man looks at Alec with one expectantly raised eyebrow.

Alec is used to being naked around people, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this exposed under someone else’s gaze. “Yeah,” he manages to say, wondering what the hell the protocol is for this. He’s no high-end rent boy. He’s never even been to a five-star hotel before, much less with a man that looks like he could buy the whole establishment twice over without breaking a sweat. “I’m Alec.”

“I gathered,” the man says, nodding sagely. There’s something uncanny about his eyes. Alec could swear he’d seen them flash yellow, just for a split-second, and – was that incense burning when he got here? He must not have noticed.

“You can call me Magnus,” the man informs him and Alec feels suddenly alien in his own body, wondering what to do with it. Magnus gestures at the opposite couch and when Alec makes a move to sit, Magnus shakes his head, something devious to his smile as he flashes perfect teeth. “Sans the towel, if you please.”

It’s not the most scandalous thing he’s ever been asked to do but Alec struggles anyway, somehow, to let himself undress entirely. He takes a deep breath that he hopes goes unnoticed as he walks over to the couch, not letting himself tense up as he leans back and cracks his neck. It feels too much like putting on a show but then again, none of his clients pay him for his stellar personality.

“Much better,” Magnus approves, reaching across the table to hand Alec a glass of wine. It smells sweet, warming Alec as he takes a sip and tries not to fidget. “I assume you settled your price with Francis?”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms, glancing around the room at the elaborate drapes and lush carpets, eyes lingering on the four-posted bed that doesn’t look like it’s ever been used. He’s almost scared to imagine what it would feel like to lay down on it. “I didn’t think he was serious about matching my demand.”

“Whatever your price,” Magnus murmurs as his dark eyes watch Alec, the intensity of the gaze sending a shiver down his spine. “It can’t hope to match your worth.”

Alec avoids those eyes as heat creeps up his neck, staining a path all the way down to his chest. “My, my,” Magnus laughs, a note of surprised delight to his voice, “Don’t tell me you haven’t been complimented before, because I won’t believe it.”

“Believe what you will,” Alec forces himself to say, but it comes out a lot shakier than he intended it to. “Tell me what you want. There are certain things I don’t do, no matter the price.”

He’d half-expected Magnus to put up a fight about that, considering that he’s paying way above Alec’s usual rate, but the man only smiles amiably and seems to lose himself in thought, eventually turning to Alec after draining another glass of wine. “I understand if you don’t trust me,” Magnus starts, only to smile sharply at Alec’s scoff of disbelief, “But I assure you, I’m not asking for anything you might consider painful or degrading. No, in fact-“

He cocks his head, staring expectantly at Alec until he obligingly sips at his wine. “I’d be happy just to spend the evening talking,” and Alec’s breath catches in his throat when Magnus says “But I’d be a great deal happier to have you on your knees.”

“And,” Alec interrupts, bewildered, forgetting his nudity as he leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, “I could leave and you’d just – pay me anyway? Even if I didn’t-?”

Another nod, another smile. Magnus is unbelievable.

“It’s up to you,” Magnus assures him, “But I can offer you a lot more than money if you choose to stay.”

Alec can’t think clearly. That has to be the reason behind why he doesn’t make a run for the door; he’d be doing the right thing by getting the hell out of here as fast as possible.

He doesn’t run. He feels caught in Magnus’s gaze, letting it consume him until the word “Yes,” passes through his lips and fills the space between them.

“Yes?” Magnus prods, his mouth curved in a dangerous smile, the most tempting thing that Alec has ever seen.

“Yes.”

-

Magnus doesn’t touch him.

Alec had been expecting things to go differently after he agreed to stay, but he’s both relieved and suspicious as Magnus enraptures him in conversation, giving Alec a hard time in keeping up. It’s a hell of a lot more interesting than the usual john, Alec has to admit, but he doesn’t know what to make of it when Magnus is so – so at ease, not demanding anything from Alec despite having every right to.

There’s got to be a catch. There’s always a catch with the kind ones.

“Not that I don’t find this _stimulating_ ,” Alec says, catching Magnus before he can launch into another topic Alec has no knowledge of, “But do you want to fuck me or not?”

God, the way Magnus looks at him when the word _fuck_ passes his lips – it’s sinful. Alec swallows a soft noise down at the heat that clenches in his stomach. He prays Magnus can’t see the way that he flushes, all over. Alec had hoped he’d outgrow that.

He means to look away and avoid Magnus’s gaze but instead, Alec finds his eyes fixated on the way that Magnus strokes a thumb across the rim of his glass, manicured nails and polished rings reflecting the dim light. He’s almost certain he could see his own reflection there if he looked hard enough. “Alec,” Magnus says, Alec’s name like a breath of air that’s been held for too long, “Do I honestly need to answer that question?”

A silence passes between them, but it’s fleeting and unimportant. A moment later, Alec relinquishes his hold on his glass to place it on the table, his teeth leaving marks in his lower lip as he looks at Magnus and can’t make himself stop looking. “You don’t,” Alec concedes softly. “You paid for me. You can do anything you want to me.”

He doesn’t expect to see a grimace on Magnus’s face when he says that but the sight makes Alec grin, taken aback. He’s had a lot of clients that seemed plenty friendly at first, but most of them quickly got over their apprehension and took what they were entitled to. Magnus, he’s a different breed. “Quite true,” he agrees, “But I’d rather not take the choice entirely from you.”

“Who the hell,” Alec exhales, shaking his head, “Gets a hooker and then just – doesn’t ask for anything?”

“I’ve asked for plenty,” Magnus insists, looking put-upon. “The pleasure of your company, for one thing.”

“Come on,” Alec insists, standing up and rising to his full height and while he’s not exactly unashamed or comfortable in his nudity, he’s far from nervous. There’s just something about Magnus that makes this feel different; he’s made this whole night feel different. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what to _do_.”

He expects to hear something filthy from Magnus, but when he simply says “Kiss me,” and looks at Alec like that’s really all he wants-?

“Yeah,” Alec breathes; his voice is hoarse, unfamiliar. His feet are silent as he steps across the carpet to cup Magnus’s jaw in his hand, silencing his thoughts when they begin to reach a crescendo. His heart is beating at a mile per minute.

Magnus’s mouth is soft, sweet – only in texture and taste. His teeth latch onto Alec’s bottom lip and draw a deep, shocked moan from him that he’s certain he’s never made before, gasping in the space between one kiss and another, letting his fingers curl in the no doubt expensive suit jacket that Magnus is wearing. His shoulders are solid where Alec grips him; firm and warm.

“Was that,” Alec exhales, daring a smile, “To your satisfaction?”

“Darling,” Magnus whispers; Alec might be imagining the brief touch of their foreheads resting together, but the sensation of it takes his breath away. “You have no idea.”

 _I think I might_.

Alec has never felt this way before. Magnus is looking at him like he’s more than the pleasures his body can offer, but that’s wishful thinking and above all else, that’s a dangerous thing to even consider. Alec is a body, nothing more. He’s never going to be anything more.

He clears his throat, hating the way a blush has lit up his throat, but Magnus only hums and puts his mouth there, teeth scraping across sensitive skin. It makes Alec shiver; with insistent hands at his hips, Alec lets himself settle in Magnus’s lap, thighs spread wide, hard cock pressed against Magnus’s stomach.

Not all clients like that. This isn’t about him, after all, and Alec makes an attempt to slide backwards and away from the heat of Magnus’s body without leaving his lap, but Magnus murmurs “No, no – stay,” and those softly spoken words convince Alec that for once, it’s alright to break the rules.

“Let me make one thing clear,” Magnus breathes, his tongue dipping into the hollow of Alec’s throat, Magnus’s fingers threading through his hair to tug his head back; it’s more thrilling than painful. “Unless I explicitly say otherwise, nothing is off-limits. Yes?”

“Yes,” Alec breathes, spine curved to allow Magnus’s hand to explore the length of his back, Alec’s mouth shaping a vague smile as the sensation becomes almost ticklish, almost too much. “I understand.”

Magnus hums, his warm mouth and sharp teeth making a home on Alec’s shoulder. He thinks he should tell Magnus not to leave any marks, but that doesn’t seem to be his intention; he simply tongues at Alec’s skin before blowing softly across it, Alec’s senses going into hypersensitivity from something so very, very insignificant. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

Alec shouldn’t laugh at his clients but for Magnus, he’s doing a lot of things that have been out of the question until now. He huffs a breath of laughter that doesn’t go unnoticed, but Magnus only raises an eyebrow at him until Alec feels silently coaxed into saying “That your idea of dirty talk?”

“No,” Magnus disagrees, “I simply believe in telling the truth.”

“You know,” Alec begins to say, stunned at suddenly being beneath Magnus on the couch and having no remembrance of being put there; Magnus must be stronger and a lot faster than he looks. “You’ve already agreed to pay me more than twice my usual. I don’t really need seducing.”

“Hush, now,” Magnus murmurs, his fingers dancing along Alec’s stomach. “The client is always right, and what have you. Let me indulge.”

Alec can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t. Despite knowing better, he closes his eyes and lets his fingers tentatively find their way into Magnus’s styled hair, curiously caressing the spikes and softer, shorter hair at the back of his neck. It seems to please Magnus, judging by the little kiss that’s pressed against the inside of Alec’s wrist, and that’s – that’s something he’s never felt before. Nobody has ever done that to him before.

No more thinking. Alec shudders against the tongue that flattens against his hipbone; it’s relentless, an assault of sensation that leaves him defenseless, wanting more, hesitant to make that need known. Magnus doesn’t have the same hang-ups, because he murmurs “A little harder, darling,” until Alec obliges and scratches his nails through Magnus’s hair, feeling the vibration through his skull as he groans.

Alec is almost afraid of whatever is happening here. There’s something oddly sensual about Magnus taking his time, his hands on Alec’s thighs as Magnus explores and conquers new territories, tongue chasing a lingering drop of water from the shower from Alec’s navel to his hip. His hips hitch up helplessly, but when Alec expects to be told off, Magnus only exhales a curse against his skin, his nails digging into Alec’s thighs.

It’s encouragement, maybe. Maybe. Hopefully.

When Alec opens his eyes, he’s shocked by the sight between his thighs; in the darkness of the room, Magnus looks like an animal, his eyes flashing brightly, a trick of the light shaping his teeth into canines. “Eyes closed,” Magnus near-snarls, but Alec can’t figure out why that sharp-tongued command leaves him in anticipation rather than apprehension. 

There’s something so wrong about this entire situation and he can’t put his finger on it, but the worst part of it is that Alec doesn’t want to leave. Running is the last thing on his mind.

He’s had his fair share of bruises over the years, but he wonders what he’ll look like leaving Magnus tonight. Alec envisions finger-shaped smudges across his thighs, the imprint of a thumb at the curve of his jaw; he can feel Magnus’s teeth on his skin, ready to draw blood. At the last second, the pressure eases up until Magnus is parting Alec’s knees. It’s electrifying, the way that Alec jerks at the first soft touch of lips to the underside of his cock.

Not a lot of clients would be willing to do this and even fewer than that are any good at it – Alec would estimate that none of them like it at all.

Magnus, though – he liquefies Alec’s spine with the first tender touch of his tongue and a hint of teeth, pushing Alec to the edge so fast that he clutches at the soft cushioning of the couch and gasps a curse, or a prayer. The way that he chokes out _“God,”_ makes Magnus chuckle softly and Alec can feel that sensation striking him like a whiplash, flaying him to his very core.

He forgets about Isabelle and their cold little apartment. He forgets about the city waiting for him just outside of this room. Alec forgets about everything that isn’t Magnus and his clever mouth, his wicked eyes undoubtedly watching Alec as he groans and shivers, toes curling as Magnus presses a kiss to the base of his cock.

It’s unbelievable, the way Magnus makes him feel. There’s a dreamlike quality to every touch, as if Magnus isn’t quite solid – as if he’ll disappear the moment that Alec dares to reach out and touch him in return, aching to slide his thumb along the seam of those lips to eventually dip inside.

Magnus can’t be real. Nobody touches Alec like this. “Oh, god,” he gasps, head turning to the side so abruptly that he expects to hear his neck crack, but all he registers is Magnus’s soft little laugh as his fingers stroke Alec expertly, his other hand reaching beneath Alec’s body to lift him up, palm firmly placed in the middle of Alec’s lower back. “I would say it’s a shame,” Magnus muses, “That it seems I’m the first one to see you this way, but I’d be lying. I’m quite happy to have that privilege.”

“Jesus, shut up,” Alec groans, wondering if he’ll be berated for his loud mouth, but if Magnus’s mouth on his cock is a punishment, Alec would be happy to never be good again. “I – what about – don’t you want me to touch _you_ -?”

“All in good time.”

It’s said in a low, silken voice that makes Alec feel as if he’s underwater, everything turned soft and beautiful, his body weightless from Magnus’s touches. It’s agony.

Alec hadn’t expected this gentleness. He can’t figure out if it’s for his benefit or if Magnus has another motive – a darker one – but as things stand, Alec can’t bring himself to mind. He finds himself abruptly speechless as Magnus swallows him down, clever tongue against aching flesh, Alec’s body tense for a split-second until the pleasure drags him back under.

He stutters out something hopelessly broken when Magnus swallows around him and presses two slender, beautiful fingers inside of him without any warning, heat pulsing through Alec in a way he’d previously thought of as impossible. It must be rare to feel this good, he thinks, biting his own knuckles to silence the half-desperate and mangled noises that want to escape his throat.

Alec built himself a cage, once, to keep everything safe. Magnus touches him like he’s picked the lock and set all those burdens and impossible hopes free.

He must be imagining things, but there’s heat beneath his skin in all the places that Magnus covers him with his own body, the warmth spreading through Alec like flowers in bloom, finally transforming into something beautiful. “I can’t,” he says in a voice that’s half-ruined, but Magnus draws back and murmurs “You can. You will,” and Alec has forgotten why he shouldn’t trust this man. He’s forgotten a lot of things.

Magnus must look gorgeous between Alec’s thighs but he’s afraid to open his eyes and see it for himself. Too much has happened here tonight that Alec can’t make sense of and to confront himself with the impossible idea that Magnus is looking at him with those dark, lovely eyes - Alec can’t stand it, lashes quivering against the tops of his cheekbones when the pleasure sets his entire being on fire.

Never before, Alec thinks, and never again. It could break his heart, the truth of it.

“Magnus,” he moans, unable to hold back any longer, the long line of his body trembling violently, his knuckles gone white from the strain of controlling himself. Magnus’s breath of a laugh ghosts across the head of Alec’s cock, his hips jerking at the manicured nail that gently draws a path along the underside, slick with precome. “I never said you couldn’t come, darling,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec is almost afraid of letting go – he’s always been afraid of letting go but Magnus makes it easy. With just a shudder and a breath, Alec comes, whining into the meat of his arm as Magnus gentles him through it, long fingers stroking Alec from the inside, drawing a last trembling sigh from him until eventually, the afterglow begins to fade.

Alec can’t catch his breath fast enough. He feels unmade, panting heavily until his lungs don’t burn as harshly anymore, the muscles in his thighs relaxing before going entirely slack. Magnus eases him back down on the couch with a care Alec hadn’t been expecting, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t appreciate it. “Thanks,” Alec rasps out as Magnus disappears only to return with a damp washcloth, his fingers tracing Alec’s chest while he works on cleaning up the mess.

He’s never been reckless, but Alec makes himself open his eyes to look at Magnus, a half-smile curving his mouth at the odd intensity that he finds in Magnus’s face, behind his eyes. “That was great,” Alec murmurs, content to lay here forever if he could, but he makes himself sit up and brace himself to leave as soon as Magnus places the washcloth on the table. “I should go, though, unless-?”

Unless you still want me, Alec thinks, hardly daring to breathe.

“Stay a little longer,” Magnus says, his fingers catching Alec’s chin, their mouths held close enough to kiss. “I still have plans for you.”

“You don’t have a lot of time left,” Alec points out, but the words aren’t without an air of breathlessness that he’s incapable of disguising. “The deal was for one hour.”

He doesn’t want to go just yet; when Magnus gestures dismissively and says “I’ll double your pay,” that’s more than enough incentive to stay for just – just a little while longer.

-

Alec dozes, but only after Magnus insists on it.

He’s never fallen asleep with a client before; not because he wasn’t fucking exhausted, some nights, but because he couldn’t trust anyone enough to shut his eyes for even a minute. Magnus has been a perfect gentleman, Alec muses, considering his line of work. He tells himself that he’ll only close his eyes for a short time, but when he awakens, there’s a naked body against his back and through the windows, Alec can see that dusk has come and gone.

“Hello,” Magnus breathes against the shell of Alec’s ear. One of his hands is playing with Alec’s hair; it’s strangely soothing, that touch, making Alec turn into it with a low hum of pleasure. “I trust you’re rested?”

“That depends,” Alec groans, turning his face into the pillow, wishing he could muster the energy to rise up on his knees; with Magnus against his back, Alec can feel his cock sliding along his lower back, stiff and slick. “What do you have planned for me?”

He needn’t ask, Alec thinks, hiding his grin against the pillowcase as Magnus unceremoniously yanks his hips up, Alec’s knees spread wide, his elbows resting against the bed to offer him some semblance of balance. “I certainly hope I’ve made it clear,” Magnus says, speaking right up against Alec’s skin, his mouth open and wet on the top of Alec’s spine. “I’m going to fuck you.”

 _Yes,_ Alec thinks, the thought so foreign to him that he almost doesn’t hear himself whisper “Please.”

He can feel Magnus’s weight shifting behind him as one broad palm slides up his spine, cupping the back of Alec’s neck, the fingers spreading out in a caress. It’s devastatingly soothing.

Alec gives himself over to this, all of it – Magnus could do anything to him and Alec doubts he’d be able to muster up the energy to mind. “Darling,” Magnus whispers, Alec’s ill-concealed anxiety easing as he hears Magnus opening a condom, a moment passing silently between them. “Are you ready?”

He takes a page out of Magnus’s book as he says “Do I honestly need to answer that question?”

Magnus might just smirk against the back of Alec’s neck, but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t have the time to think any harder on it when Magnus strokes his cock in an easy, unhurried slide, fingers slick with lube; Alec pushes into it with a languidness he didn’t expect from himself, shuddering all the while. There’s something very easy and very _right_ about the way that Magnus feels against him, slowly beginning to push inside.

Alec can’t open his eyes, not yet, but he forces himself to. His gaze cuts to the window and the glittering night sky outside, his mouth dry as Magnus breathes something lovely in a tongue that Alec doesn’t speak, the words murmured right against Alec’s ear. He could become addicted to this. He loathes that thought for just a second before it disappears as Magnus pulls back, something not quite harsh but undoubtedly _possessive_ about the sharpness of his next thrust.

Magnus’s touch turns Alec boneless and pliant. His mouth is wide open on a soundless gasp as Magnus covers his back with his body, warmth rising between them like the inevitable buildup before the eruption of a volcano. “God, I’m-” Alec pants, words slurring together, his fingers clenching hard in the soft sheets; they uncurl when one of Magnus’s hands covers his own, thumb stroking across tense knuckles.

“I’m-?” Magnus laughs, waiting for an answer – waiting and refusing to move until Alec stutters out “I’m – I’m close, so close–“

“Yes,” Magnus agrees as Alec’s cock pulses in his fist, his body reaching a point between trembling and shattering into a million little pieces, “I can tell. I’d like you to wait.”

 _“Fuck,”_ Alec nearly sobs, but there’s a certain amount of bewildered laughter to his voice as Magnus tightens the fingers around his cock, slowing his thrusts to a pace that’s easier to handle, letting Alec’s heartbeat slow down, letting him catch his goddamn breath. “Fuck, yeah, whatever – you’re the boss.”

A kiss is pressed just behind his ear. “I won’t make you wait long,” Magnus assures him, biting at the shell of Alec’s ear as he suddenly shifts, pulling Alec back against his chest and fully into his lap in one fluid motion that startles Alec to the point of speechlessness. His knees ache where they’re planted against the bed but like this, Alec thinks, he can at least reach back to fist a hand in Magnus’s hair, aching for something to hold on to.

They find a rhythm together that’s beyond exquisite, like something torn straight from heaven and delivered to them – Alec feels as if he’s burning up from the inside out, ready to go supernova at the moment that Magnus’s hips stutter against him, cock buried so deep Alec whines from the sensation, spilling all over Magnus’s fist when he groans “Now, Alec,” in a voice that brooks no argument.

He comes and it feels like being reborn; Alec lets himself escape the confines of his body for a brief, blissful moment, a soft smile curving his mouth. He can feel Magnus breathing hotly against the back of his neck, fingers gone soft on Alec’s hips.

It’s more tenderness than Alec could ever have expected. He wants to put it into words that Magnus will understand, but once Alec has let himself sink into the bed and breathe raggedly, the only word that he can muster is a weak, awed “Wow.”

He’s being pulled under to that place of deep, black sleep; Alec couldn’t resist being dragged there if he wanted to, but before oblivion claims him, he swears he can hear Magnus murmur “Don’t you dream of me, darling.”

-

The morning after, Alec wakes up with almost no memory of the night before – nothing concrete, anyway, because he wakes up in his own bed without any pains or aches.

He could almost convince himself that last night didn’t actually happen if it wasn’t for the money stuffed in the pocket of the jeans he’s still wearing and the note folded neatly on the bedside table, written in an elegant hand.

_Until next time,  
Magnus._

-

He doesn’t tell Isabelle a lot about that night. It helps that she blames that on his bad attitude and unwillingness to share anything with the people that love him; it means she’s not going to catch on to the fact that beyond the money and the note, Alec doesn’t remember much about Magnus or what they did.

For a while, there, he was sure he’d been drugged, but that’s impossible. He saw Magnus drink from the same unopened bottle of wine as Alec did, but what the hell else could be responsible for the gaps in his memory? He remembers arriving at the hotel, but beyond that – beyond Magnus’s name – Alec can’t recall how he got home or when he even left. 

All he knows is that Isabelle yelled at him that morning for failing to respond to her texts and all Alec could do in response was to stare at his phone, blinking with unopened messages.

All things considered, it’s not the worst or the weirdest thing to have happened to him in this line of work, but it definitely counts as one of the most mysterious things.

A couple of weeks pass and Alec gradually remembers what his life is meant to be. He argues with Isabelle and consoles her on the nights where even she can’t keep up her optimism, but beyond that, Alec has nearly completely forgotten Magnus.

Almost; there are certain things he can’t put out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries to.

-

_Until next time,  
Magnus._

Alec should throw away the note. It’s doing him no good to obsess over four little words, but they’re the only concrete evidence he has of a night he’d otherwise think he made up in his head. He fingers the edges of the paper in his room, late at night; once, Alec puts his lips to the ink and inhales sharply, wishing he could remember more than a name.

Isabelle had told him he looked like shit when she found him in bed, the morning after, but it was said uncertainly and once Alec saw his own reflection, he understood that reaction. He never looks his best after a long night, but it was beyond shocking to see his own face staring back at him, looking healthier than ever and more well-rested than he has been in a long time.

No circles beneath his eyes, no faint lines around his mouth. Alec had attributed it to a long night’s sleep, but even that explanation had sounded weak. He’d made an effort to put it out of his mind, but along with the aches he didn’t have and the marks he was sure he’d wake up with that weren’t there, it – it unsettled him.

Life goes on, same as it always does. Magnus remains a thought that keeps Alec awake long into the night.

-

“Simon called,” Isabelle announces, rolling her eyes as she roots through her drawer in search of something to wear. “He wants to meet. Can you believe that? A month of no calls, nothing, and suddenly he wants me?”

She scowls; Alec smiles in response. “Boys,” Isabelle mutters, her fury fading to something softer, something sadder. “I mean, he doesn’t – he doesn’t even _see_ me.”

“Izzy,” Alec says gently, “That’s his problem, alright? If he doesn’t appreciate you, that’s him being an idiot.”

Isabelle’s smile can brighten a room – it does precisely that as she beams at Alec, worriedly tugging at the hem of her dress, lips pursed. “How do I look?”

It’s not a date but it’s not a job either, exactly. Alec will never understand why Isabelle even gives this Simon kid the time of day; he doesn’t fuck her but he does call her, sometimes, wanting to meet up and hang out. As far as Alec knows, Simon understands what Isabelle does and by extension, what Alec does, but Isabelle insists that it doesn’t bother him, except Alec thinks it does. The kid is still waiting on his childhood sweetheart to give him a chance and consequently, he doesn’t seem to notice that Isabelle is right there and hurting behind her brittle smiles.

Alec knows her; she’s tough. This passing infatuation with Simon will fade and she’ll be right back with Meliorn, for the better. They’ve always worked. He’s always respected her; he’s loved her enough to make up for all of Alec’s shortcomings.

Alec doesn’t like Simon one bit, despite never having met him. “You look beautiful,” he tells Isabelle, watching her light up brightly. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“Love you too,” she calls; in the wake of the slamming door and ensuing silence, Alec slowly rises to his feet. He’s got somewhere to be, too.

-

The hotel Pandemonium doesn’t exist.

Alec’s feet take him to the place he was so sure the chauffeur had dropped him off at, but there is no beautiful, glittering high-rise in front of him. The building is very old and deserted; moss is growing in the cracked cement of the parking lot. A rusted sign reads KEEP OUT.

It doesn’t make any sense at all.


	2. i love your lies, i'll eat 'em up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh this chapter pretty much wrote itself. there are multiple pov's in this chapter & yet again, i've gone and messed with the canon but what can you do. chapter title from maroon 5's 'animals'. kudos & comments keep my family fed, my lands bountiful & my children healthy.

Alec spends his weekend in seedy hotels and dive bars, in that order. He fucks, he drinks and he sleeps – sometimes in his own bed, sometimes on park benches when he doesn’t feel like going home and facing Isabelle just yet. The weather is mild enough that he’s not concerned about getting sick and he figures, in the end, that he stands a higher chance of catching something from his clients than he does by wandering the streets late at night, looking for distractions, his thin jacket clinging desperately to a frame that’s more bone than muscle, lately.

He’s given up the fruitless search for Magnus. There came a point when he realized that tracking down a man he knew nothing about for answers he wasn’t certain he’d get was as pointless as chasing ghosts and Alec is sick of feeling like he’s losing his mind, investigating a hotel that never existed and obsessing over a man with a sharp-toothed smile.

The problem is that he can’t stop thinking about it even when he’s made himself a promise to stop. The problem is that whatever Alec can’t remember, he remembers enough to want the whole picture.

Three beers down and he’s feeling maudlin. Isabelle would laugh at him if she was here but like always, lately, she isn’t here. They fall out, sometimes. Alec has mouthed off about her boyfriends enough that her hostility and his stubbornness have turned their apartment into a war-zone and in all honesty, Alec is too ashamed to go back and apologize just yet.

She always says that he keeps too much from her. He wonders how he’s meant to fix that; how does he come out and admit that he’s struggling to understand one insignificant night in one insignificant life that had felt, then, like a defining moment?

“Stupid,” he mutters, sighing quietly as the radio switches from rock to blues. It’s an old tune he doesn’t recognize but he hums along to the second verse as best as he can, idly scratching at the worn tabletop. He turns his head when something rustles – maybe a patron shrugging on his coat, maybe the door creaking softly, but Alec finds himself frowning as everything seems perfectly in order.

He thought he heard something, but he’s been less than confident regarding his own perception, lately. He’s seeing things and hearing things and it puts an itch under his skin, that nagging uncertainty of not knowing whether to trust himself or declare himself insane.

Magnus isn’t coming back but what kind of thought is that, anyway? Of course he’s not coming back. Alec knows better than to get involved with clients, but he’d be able to move on if he just had all of the facts laid out before him – but they’re all gone, same as his memories, leaving him with an itch that he can’t scratch.

He puts the bills on the counter and then Alec heads out the door, steeling himself for the cold rush of air that greets him as he steps out onto the street, steadfastly ignoring the feeling in his stomach that’s warning him that something is very wrong. The street is deserted but well-lit. There’s nothing here that poses a threat, unless you’re scared of that one homeless guy who sleeps in the alley.

“Stupid,” Alec repeats to himself. “Get a grip.”

-

Isabelle might be right about Alec being a little bit desperate and a lot pathetic after she finds him awake at 3 AM, browsing the net for any mention of a Magnus; keywords include Brooklyn and rich. He doesn’t have much luck, predictably.

It’s just – “It’s just weird, Iz,” Alec defends himself, staring vacantly at the computer screen, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. “A guy with that much money can’t just make himself disappear.”

“That’s exactly what men with that much money can do,” she contradicts him; Alec has to admit that she has a point, but even as she rolls her eyes and sighs, he can hear her saying “I’ll ask the girls about him, but don’t say I never do anything for you.”

“Thank you,” Alec murmurs. He falls into a dreamless sleep that lasts for an hour at most, waking up tangled in sweaty sheets. There’s a moment where he’s afraid he’s seeing things again – a pair of cat’s eyes flashing at him from the corner of the room, but by the time Alec fumbles for the light switch, there’s only the three-legged chair standing tranquilly in that spot, a forgotten scarf draped across it.

He’s tempted to call Isabelle, just to hear her voice – when the world is in chaos, she always makes sense of things, but Alec tosses his phone onto the desk and drags himself into the shower, instead.

As he’s stepping out, ready to towel himself off, a disorienting rush of vertigo hits him out of the blue; he has the vague sense of being somewhere else, in a different bathroom. 

The mirror is huge and the tiles are clean and white, but before Alec can cling to that scrap of knowledge, that _memory_ , it seems to erase itself. The details blur.

He realizes that he’s sunk to the floor only when his knee bangs against the unforgiving tile, hissing a breath through his teeth at the pain. “Christ,” Alec exhales, his head in his hands, filled with dread and a new conviction. “You’re not insane. You’re _not_.”

-

The Hotel Pandemonium might not exist, but Simon turns out to be more useful than Alec could have ever imagined.

“It’s a new gig,” Isabelle had told him, not sounding too thrilled. “He’s taking his friend out for her birthday, after.”

“Yeah?” Alec had asked, about as interested as Isabelle had sounded. “Where to?”

Isabelle had taken a minute to answer, busy digging into the bottom drawer of her dresser to pull out a skirt, inspecting it from all angles. “I think he said Pandemonium,” she’d answered dismissively; Alec had stared at her for so long after hearing that name that Isabelle smacked the back of his head, demanding to know what the hell he was spacing out for.

“Izzy,” he had responded, throat dry, “You think I can come along, check it out?”

He couldn’t deny that he felt bad, seeing her light up, thinking Alec wanted to spend time with her. He does, he always does, but this time, there’s more to it than that. He’s got what amounts to half a lead, at best, but it’s worth something.

-

Alec realizes long before they reach their destination that this is a bad idea.

No, not a bad idea; a horrible, idiotic idea, that’s what it is. He had himself convinced that what he wanted more than anything else were answers, but he’s starting to wonder if doing this is more dangerous than letting it go, once and for all.

If Magnus really had him drugged – if he really did something like that – Alec wonders what his reasoning could be. Powerful men don’t want to be identified, Alec supposes, but there’s a niggling doubt in the back of his head about this whole thing, but before he can reconsider he’s already seated in the van, buckled down next to Isabelle, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

He thinks Isabelle might’ve figured out that he’s not out for the company, tonight.

“Don’t,” Alec tells her under his breath as she starts to lean in close, her mouth drawn in a worried line. He hates himself for all the times he’s dismissed her or pushed her away but this once, at least, it’s for her own good.

Simon is preoccupied with his redhead friend and it’s almost comical, watching one girl pay no attention to him while two others are making eyes at the kid. Alec shifts uncomfortably, listening to the conversations that stop and start without any discerning pattern, staring straight ahead, hoping they’ll get to Pandemonium soon. He doesn’t have a plan, but tonight, Alec figures he can at least get one step closer to figuring out what the hell happened to him and who the hell Magnus is.

It almost worries him, his own private obsession.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures Isabelle right before they venture inside. The bright lights and loud music are disorienting even when Alec moves out of the crowd, standing off to the side and watching with a keen eye, slowly realizing that trying to find someone in a place like this is very nearly hopeless.

He’d have better luck if he knew more, if he could _remember_ more, but those bitter thoughts aren’t doing him any good. He has a name. In a place like this, names go a long way.

There’s something _off_ , Alec thinks to himself, but he can’t figure out what it is that has the hairs on his arms standing up even in the clammy heat of the club. He feels like someone is watching him but picking out the offender in a crowd like this – it’s impossible and ultimately, it’s useless. He sighs, leaning against the wall against his back, letting himself keep a careful eye on where he can see that Isabelle has disappeared to, crowding against Simon, laughing too loudly.

He hurts for her, sometimes, for his sister that never gets what she deserves.

“No,” he exhales, seeing Isabelle trying to coax Simon into the back room, a grimace passing across Alec’s face. He’s got no doubt in his mind about what she has planned for Simon but as much as Alec is her big brother, Isabelle is her own person. Alec just – he just doesn’t like her being out of his sight in places like this. She can hold her own, but if she couldn’t, if something _happened_ -? Alec wouldn’t forgive himself.

It won’t, he reminds himself. Isabelle is the smartest and most capable person he knows; she wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without mace, but more than that, Alec wishes that she didn’t have to take such precautions just to walk down the street. It’s infuriating, knowing he never has to worry about the things she does, despite the risks of their occupation.

He almost finds himself smiling, watching her eventually relent and throw her arms around Simon in a hug, swaying with him in time to the music. His redhead friend and the girl with the beautiful curls are engaged in a conversation, seemingly happy enough to chat at the bar while Isabelle whispers into Simon’s ear, turning his face red enough that Alec can see it all the way from across the dance floor.

Alec stays like that for another minute or two, until he’s reassured that Simon and the others will keep Isabelle from straying too far and doing something ill-advised. He walks down the couple of steps that lead to the bar, getting himself a shot of vodka when the bartender makes his way over. He’d prefer to stay sober for what essentially amounts to a mission to gather information, but he doubts he’ll learn much in a club where more than half of the people there are either drunk or high – so Alec indulges, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes cutting out to observe the dancers once again.

“Hey,” he eventually shouts at the bartender, smiling apologetically for interrupting. “Who owns this place? I was thinking about writing a review for my student paper, you know?”

He’s always a better liar when he’s halfway to drunk, but the bartender watches him with sharp eyes before gruffly saying “The boss is the boss. Writes my paycheck, keeps me employed. That’s all I know.”

Alec thinks he’s stumbled into territory that the bartender is very unwilling to discuss further, but Alec figures that if anything, he knows a thing or two about getting people to talk. Usually, it involves him on his knees or on his back, but this time, he slides a sizable amount of money across the tabletop, raising an eyebrow imploringly as the bartender discreetly picks the bills up. “Listen,” Alec continues, “I’m looking for someone. Guy named Magnus – have you seen him, or heard of him-?”

His hopes aren’t exactly high but when the bartender fails to conceal a flinch of recognition, a victorious smile curves Alec’s mouth. “Great,” he exclaims, “Thank you.”

“Kid-“ the ageing man calls out after him, but Alec is too preoccupied to notice the way the man’s gaze is darting warily after him until Alec has disappeared into the crowd. 

Whoever Magnus may be, he clearly has ties to this place.

It’s something. It’s more than Alec ever expected to find out, but he feels an exhilaration pounding through him that’s entirely alien, wondering why the closer he gets to finding something concrete, the more he feels like someone is urging him to turn back and forget. “Izzy,” he yells, spotting her backless dress, grabbing her shoulder in his hurry, disentangling her from Simon. “Hey, Iz – how do you get back there? Is it the VIP area?”

“Alec,” she shouts, but once she realizes that she’s lost Simon to his friend, she huffs and crosses her arms as she shrugs, looking strangely at Alec. “How should I know? I’ve never been here before.”

“Iz,” Alec says, raising his voice to be heard above the music, “Could you help me get back there?”

She stares at him like she’s seeing him for the first time, but Alec doesn’t have time for her scrutiny. He raises an eyebrow and looks at her pleadingly until she huffs, but she doesn’t agree just yet. “Why?” she demands to know, “Why do you want to get back there so badly, huh?”

“I’m-“ Alec evades, swallowing through his suddenly dry throat as he spots a burly security guard staring him down, as if daring him to try something. It’s nothing, he convinces himself. Nobody here has any reason to keep an eye on him. “I’m looking for someone, alright? That guy I told you about.”

“Oh,” Isabelle exhales, nodding. “I should have known. My big brother can’t let anything go.”

Despite the despairing words, there’s a playful glint in Isabelle’s eyes. On impulse, Alec embraces her tightly and together, they sway under the colorful lights, the music pulsing through them both.

-

Magnus doesn’t need to be present to keep an eye on the club.

However, he much prefers the noise and the life to the suffocating air of his lair, lately, where it feels as if history has been permanently frozen inside of those four walls. 

Pandemonium offers a distraction when he needs one the most and it’s not a hardship, exactly, to spend an hour or two surrounded by men and women and everything in between, each one more beautiful than the one before. There’s a different kind of life here with the mundanes; a greedy vigor for fun and a taste for the forbidden.

Magnus has never had the same reservations regarding mundanes that most of his kind is still ruled by. He has loved them and he has lost them but above all else, Magnus has learned from them.

Mundanes can offer innumerable pleasures, endless sensations – in some ways, Magnus finds them more interesting than the seelies. For all their otherworldly beauty and charm, someone who cannot lie is dreadfully predicable.

He watches the people milling about in the private section, taking great care to stay on high alert. There have been incidents where certain _creatures_ were less than discreet with their proclivities; Magnus doesn’t need the police on his doorstep over another bloodless victim or torn-apart bystander.

“Not tonight, my sweet,” he tells young Agatha, watching her face fall slightly before she shrugs and makes her way over to someone more willing or, perhaps, someone a little bit more inebriated than Magnus himself. He doesn’t mind.

He isn’t looking for a warm body to bring to his bed tonight, no. He has a steady flow of drinks to keep him occupied during the busiest hours, his fingers tapping out a rhythm across the table that sends vibrations all the way down to the floor.

He might be a little more agitated than he’d realized upon his arrival.

All things considered, Magnus thinks he’s been holding himself together quite admirably. There has always been distrust between the seelies and the shadowhunters but he has been content to play both sides – for a price, of course, and rarely an insignificant one, but he is no fool. Despite what his many entangled little worlds may think of him, Magnus isn’t unaware of the unrest brewing in each faction.

Valentine is back; at least, that’s what Magnus has heard through a long line of rumors, each one more outlandish than the next. The fear is palpable among some of their realms, but Magnus has never been without a plan, should things take a turn for the worst.

He will protect his own above all else. He will ensure the legacy of the warlocks and their continued survival at any cost, but it is a heavy burden to bear, even if he bears it willingly.

“Ah,” Magnus sighs – he came here to enjoy himself, if even briefly, not to descend into a maudlin mood and spend the night in a gloom. As things stand, it won’t help to worry himself sick about potential outcomes and possible threats. For now, he gestures for another drink.

A glass of wine is placed before him. Magnus savors the taste; two weeks ago, he shared a bottle of this particular label with a boy that should, by now, have forgotten him.

-

“For the record,” Isabelle tells him once they’ve managed to evade both security and Simon in order to situate themselves in a shadowed corner, away from prying eyes – “For the record,” Isabelle repeats heatedly, “This is a stupid plan.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, because when Isabelle is right, she’s right. “Now, be quiet – do you think you can sneak in?”

“Of course I can,” she responds, rolling her eyes. “And yes, before you ask, I remember what you told me. If he’s there, I’ll tell you.”

Alec doesn’t feel great about sending Isabelle in there alone, but then again, there’s not exactly going to be trained assassins lurking around the corner, ready to slit her throat. 

Still, the apprehension sits in his stomach like a stone at the bottom of a shallow pond, his throat tight with worry even as Isabelle puts a hand on his shoulder – she’s made fun of Alec since day one about this, but now, she looks as if she’s taking this as seriously as Alec has been. “Hey,” Isabelle says, “I’ll be fine. You know me.”

“You’re an angel,” Alec sighs, “Thank you. Just – be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” Isabelle grins; with a toss of her hair, she disappears, slipping inside the back room with ease, Alec listening to her heels as she walks away. Over the thrum of the music, he soon loses track of her.

He joins Simon and the others, if only to seem less suspicious than the guy hanging out all by himself near the curtain that secludes the private area from the main dance floor. 

“Alec!” Simon shouts, launching himself at Alec in a hug that has him throwing his hands up in surprise, staring at the redheaded girl as she only giggles with a hand across her mouth. “He’s drunk,” she apologizes. “But he gives great hugs.”

“Wonderful,” Alec mutters, depositing a clumsy and clingy Simon on a bar stool, half-heartedly trying to make sure he doesn’t crack his skull open on the counter. Whatever, Maura or Maude or Maureen can take care of that; with the way she’s been looking at him all night, she shouldn’t mind. “Hey,” the redhead says, smiling tentatively at Alec. “It’s my birthday.”

Oh, Alec thinks, suddenly remembering. “Yeah,” he offers, more than a little awkwardly. “Eighteen, right? That’s cool.”

Her smile is very pretty, Alec supposes, but he doesn’t exactly turn to putty under her attention the way that Simon does. “Yeah, I-“ she begins and Alec actually feels really bad about the fact that he doesn’t remember her name – he’s pretty sure the other one is Maureen, but this one is…Clara?

No, Alec thinks, more than a little humbled when the girl laughs and says “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

“I’m sorry,” Alec offers, cringing, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just – there’s a lot going on right now, I just…”

“Clary,” the girl tells him, smiling that bright smile under these bright lights, shaking her head at Alec. “And it’s okay, you know. We don’t have to be best friends, but maybe try to remember my name next time?”

“You got it,” Alec mutters; seconds later, he makes his escape.

-

Isabelle has done a lot of things for a lot of people that she regrets, but doing her brother a favor has never been something she had to consider before agreeing to it.

He would do the same for her – he has, over and over again. She can’t claim to understand why he’s so desperate to get a glimpse at a man he only half-remembers, but Isabelle doesn’t question him beyond a few well-placed jabs before she enters the proverbial lion’s den.

She only has a description to work with but Alec had looked at her and then away before he said “You’ll know when you see him, Izzy. He’s got – he’s got _power_.”

Isabelle recognizes power. She has always been more perceptive than people give her credit for.

She doesn’t draw too much attention to herself, but she has never needed to work very hard to be noticed. The elegant necklace she’s wearing leaves the pendant resting between the swells of her breasts, her hair brushed across her shoulders to offer some semblance of modesty. Her smile is a small, imperceptible thing as she mingles and takes stock of her surroundings; she’s learned to always assess every exit and escape route when she enters a room. She learned that the hard way.

“Hey, gorgeous,” someone says from behind her and Isabelle turns slowly, her smile going from polite to sultry. “Can I get you a drink?”

The man that stands before her is of average height but _excellent_ bone structure and oh, she’s always been a little weak for the rugged ones. Not as weak as she is for the pretty ones, but the dusting of stubble is what tips this man into her favor, her hand extending to shake his. “You can,” Isabelle tells him, “But a drink is just a drink.”

“That it is,” the man agrees; he kisses the back of her hand and then says “I’m Jeremiah.”

A moment passes between them where their gazes meet and Isabelle can’t quite explain what it is about this man with pale blue eyes, but she finds herself drawn to them. “Isabelle,” she says on a breath, watching as Jeremiah walks away.

She’s not here to flirt. That cold truth snaps her right out of her haze and she curses herself briefly, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, looking around the room a little less covertly than she was going for.

“Damn it, Izzy,” she mutters to herself, pasting on a bright smile as she ducks behind a passing waiter in order to slip a little closer to the raised podium at the back center of the room. The couches there are occupied by people of all ages and genders, but all of them are beautiful. A man has his arm outstretched, fingers playing with the strap on a woman’s dress, her laughter echoing throughout the room. Alec told her that when she saw this Magnus, she’d know, but she thinks that she might fail her brother, after all.

Power feels like this:

– a pair of dark, liquid eyes watching Isabelle; a phantom touch on the back of her neck, coaxing a shiver from her that she’s helpless to control –

Power is the man that sits at the very left-side end of the couch, a glass of wine in his hand and a tranquil smile playing across his mouth. He isn’t so much as glancing in Isabelle’s direction but she has the eerie feeling that despite that, he’s very much aware of her; it’s a disturbing thought and she finds herself wondering, abruptly, what this man has done to her brother.

Alec – oh, god, what did he go through? This man, Magnus, he doesn’t look like the type of man that takes kindly to being followed and Isabelle realizes now that this may be the last mistake that she ever makes.

“Oh, my dear,” someone says from behind her, their voice smooth and silken, “I wouldn’t worry so much if I were you. It’s unbecoming.”

Magnus stands behind her, tall and proud, but Isabelle Lightwood doesn’t quiver in her boots for anyone. “I don’t remember asking for your input,” she says acidly, composing herself enough to offer a bright, fake smile, warily watching Magnus as he laughs below his breath, something very dangerous lurking behind his eyes.

This man has a hold on her brother and Isabelle is beginning to fear that it might be unbreakable. “Leave, little girl,” Magnus murmurs to her, “You have no place here, and no right.”

 _Alec_ , Isabelle thinks hazily, _what about Alec_ , but by the time she is on the other side of the curtain, she has forgotten Magnus Bane.

-

She finds her way back to Simon, somehow, despite feeling dazed, as if she’s had too much to drink without any memory of how it happened. She remembers a pretty blue light and pretty, dark eyes but beyond that, Isabelle can’t recall where she’s been or what she’s seen.

Simon hugs her tightly when she returns to the bar. Alec is nowhere to be seen. “Hey, you,” Isabelle laughs, swatting away Simon’s hands from her waist, guiding them to her shoulders, instead. “Have you seen my brother? I need to-“

I need to what?

She can’t remember.

“Oh,” Simon exclaims, frowning. “He – he was here, and then he wasn’t.”

Isabelle pats his cheek gently, smiling. “That’s alright,” she assures him. “He’ll be back.”

-

A man stands at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes glazed over; a manicured hand rests upon his shoulder, the sharp nails drawing soothing patterns across his bare skin. He is not a downworlder but nor is he a mundane – no, he’s something in between.

“Fledgling,” the woman behind him murmurs, “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he breathes in reply. His heart and his soul belong to this woman, the beautiful one with the perfect words. She has shown him a new world. She has shown him freedom. “Anything you want.”

“The boy,” she whispers to him, their eyes meeting as she smiles. “Kill the boy, precious. Kill him for me.”

The boy is tall and dark-haired and he has no business in a place like this. The boy has ties to Magnus; she is, in the end, doing him a favor.

“Yes,” her fledgling breathes; he walks without hesitation. In the dark corner, the woman remains smiling. Regardless of whether the attack fails or succeeds, her goal will be accomplished; information is power and she has always sought to be powerful.

Magnus is a fool, she thinks, smile widening. She always gets what she wants.

-

Alec sees Isabelle return; he knows her too well not to notice the odd way she’s holding herself, as if her body is unsure of its purpose and where it’s been. He doesn’t like the way her smile dims under the lights as she attempts to ease Simon’s concern, but Alec has seen enough, now, to be sure that there’s more going on here than him simply losing his mind.

He’s furious. He wanted answers for himself, not more confusion for the one person that he cares about – and once again, Alec has managed to drag Isabelle into a mess of his own making that he can’t fix, at this point, seething quietly as he watches her slowly regaining her laughter.

She’s always been stronger than him but that doesn’t make it hurt any less to see her so shaken.

 _Enough_ , Alec thinks, uncaring of the scene he might be making as he shoulders his way through the crowd, shoving into the back room without any attempt at subtlety, wildly looking around until his eyes land on a shape that strikes him as familiar; there’s something about the elegant posture, the spiked hair –

– _glittering rings in a dark room, laughter echoing around them, a mouth so sweet leaving a trail down Alec’s spine; possessive hands and panting breath, dark eyes watching him even as he sleeps_ –

There is something unbearable about looking at this man for too long but that’s the moment that Alec knows he has the right person in his sights. He means to step forward, to make his way up that podium and demand the answers he’s entitled to from a man that had no right to steal anything from him, much less his memories, but there is something very strange happening that halts him in his tracks.

 _I’m not drunk_ , Alec thinks, but there are people in this room talking to thin air, moving in a way that suggests there is someone present beside them or in front of them – there are people arguing with nothing at all and people caressing phantom shapes in the middle of the floor, each and every one of them acting as if this is something normal.

Alec staggers, hit by a wave of nausea. There’s something horribly wrong about all of this, about every single thing that’s happening inside of this room, but he forces himself to move past that thought. “Magnus,” he rasps out, willing himself to move, because in a few more steps he’ll be close enough to touch, to kiss, to remember – 

No, no, not that; he doesn’t want that, not now. “Magnus,” Alec repeats, but in the moment that Magnus turns towards him with a lingering smile on his face, he freezes abruptly, shouting _“Duck!”_ at Alec and Alec, reacting on instinct, ducks.

There is a bright blue light flashing past him and what sounds like a body hitting the floor; Magnus is speaking in a language that sounds ancient and impossible, the room gone eerily silent as Magnus finishes on a heaving breath.

Alec doesn’t open his eyes or budge an inch until Magnus says “ _Who_ ,” with an inflection that suggests the person responsible will pay dearly, “Allowed this to happen?”

Magnus sounds angry, but no – more than that, he sounds betrayed, and Alec can’t keep himself from opening his eyes any longer.

Bewildered, he turns from his kneeling position to look behind himself, unsure of what he’s expecting to find; a man with a hole punched through his chest, bleeding out on the floor – Alec hadn’t been expecting that, nor is he prepared to handle the horrible, abrupt truth of it.

There’s a dead man behind him and he thinks that Magnus killed him. He is sure that Magnus killed him.

What the hell, he thinks, letting Magnus hurriedly pull him to his feet. What the hell is happening?

“No,” Alec snaps as Magnus reaches for his hands, as if to inspect each and every inch of Alec’s body for injury. He’s already seen everything, Alec thinks, his jaw tightening as he backs up a step from Magnus, unease roiling in his stomach. “Do _not_ touch me. What the hell – what the hell was that? No, don’t-“

Focus, he reminds himself, exhaling sharply. The people around them have gone silent but whether they’re shaken or simply pretending not to be paying attention to Alec and Magnus’s confrontation, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. “My sister,” Alec snaps, “Did you do the same thing to her that you did to me? Fix it. Fix her!”

“Darling,” Magnus says quietly, gazing at Alec with what cannot possibly be sadness in his eyes, wide and dark as they are, awful and sensual. “Would you believe me if I told you I was doing it for your safety?”

“Bullshit,” Alec spits, and he’s transfixed, suddenly, as Magnus takes a step closer and purses his lips, sighing heavily. “I dearly wish I didn’t have to do this,” he tells Alec gently, his voice tired, “But I’m afraid I have no other choice.”

Alec remains unmoving as Magnus places his fingers on his forehead; “Forget,” Magnus says, “And I will find you when the time is right.”

Forget, Magnus says, and Alec is laughing right alongside with Isabelle in the parking lot, the two of them leaning on each other for support as Isabelle trips in her heels and Alec trips over Simon.

“They will be happy,” Magnus murmurs, “For now. It’s for the best. It really is.”

He has always been an exceptionally good liar but this time, he fails at convincing even himself. Isabelle Lightwood ends up being carried by her brother into a van; Alec stays in the cool night air a little while longer, seemingly catching his breath.

As his eyes turn towards the window where Magnus is standing, his eyes find nothing of importance.

-

A woman strides across the dance floor with purpose, her heels clicking delicately. The throng of people dancing doesn’t part for her; they don’t know she’s there, but she moves through the crowd easily, moving towards the back of the club.

The lights are dimmer, here. The crowd’s noise is muted but the music plays as loudly as ever, pulsing through the speakers situated above the seating area.

She spots her target and a delighted smile curves her red-painted mouth. She takes a seat on the long, narrow couch where one man sits alone, her hand reaching for a drink that’s been placed in front of her without her needing to say a word. “Magnus,” she says in greeting, looking at him from below her beautifully painted lashes, her sharp nails clicking against the glass she holds. “Are we celebrating or drinking our sorrows away?”

“There is no we,” Magnus tells her, not meeting her gaze. Camille lets herself laugh at the predictability, her slender shoulders relaxing as she moves a little closer, invading a space she hasn’t inhabited for a long time. She remains silent until Magnus is forced to acknowledge her with a frown, an unhappy line forming between his eyebrows. “What do you want?”

“Nothing at all,” she replies, “For once.”

The lights dance across their faces before they’re cast into shadow once more. Her gaze has always been a heavy and unnerving thing but once, Magnus remembers, he was enchanted by it. She always had a charm that he couldn’t quite describe nor escape the pull of, spending centuries by her side simply because she asked him to. “You expect me to believe that?”

Another little laugh from her and Magnus fixes her with a hard stare, finally taking a sip of his own drink, watching blue sparks hop from finger to finger as he rubs them together absently. “Of course not,” Camille admits, her voice coy, “But can you blame me? I’ve heard such _juicy_ rumors, lately. I wanted my answers from the source.”

Magnus has been careless over the centuries but he never had cause to be careful, before. Lovers came and went. Lovers lived and lovers died and Magnus accepted that, but Camille is going to be here forever.

“Oh?” he inquires, “Do tell me about these _rumors_.”

Camille hums, low and sweet, staring out at the dancefloor. He can see her eyes darken; there’s a magic to the way her fangs become visible beneath her dark lips, but before Magnus can look for too long, Camille reigns herself in and faces him. “Oh, the usual tales,” she assures him, “But word has it you’ve found yourself a mundane. A pretty little thing, I hear. Jeremiah tells me he caused quite a little stir – in the very heart of your club, no less.”

“There was an attack,” Magnus calmly says. “I was forced to resort to certain measures you should know I find less than appealing.”

There was an attack, yes. He does not mention the nature of it. He understands that fledglings cannot control their hunger or their impulses, but it is a beautiful coincidence, isn’t it, that one would happen to target Alec? The woman who gave the word is undoubtedly the one that sits beside him.

“Yes, dear,” Camille murmurs, “But why on earth did you save his life? There were Shadowhunters here, yet you finished the job yourself. _He_ is a mundane. You certainly know better than to risk exposing us to one of their kind.”

Magnus knows that she can hear the blood rushing through him better than anyone else, but at least, he comforts himself, she won’t know whether that’s due to irritation or concern. Camille has never been one for subtlety. “A mere distraction, that’s all he is,” Magnus dismisses, making an effort to relax his jaw and relax his posture, not letting his thoughts stray to perfect skin and laughing eyes. “We all have our hobbies, now don’t we, Camille?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, “Indeed. Magnus-“

Her hand rests atop of his, her eyes staring at Magnus with an intensity he has never been able to forget. It leaves him feeling nearly stripped of his skin, but he manages a smile, cold though it may be. “I want you to be careful. You do know involvement with a mundane never has a happy ending.”

“Oh, I know,” he promises, rising to his feet, adjusting his jacket before he makes to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, my _dear_ – I need to attend to something.”

“Watch your back,” Camille whispers, watching Magnus as he makes his exit, a slow smile curving her lips. There is blood pulsing all around her, begging her to taste. “You never know when your enemies might come at you.”

Magnus should have known better, she muses, than to cast such a poor spell on the boy. She wonders what compelled him to give up his secrets so easily, but Magnus has never been a creature of logic or sense; he thinks with his heart or he doesn’t think at all. Camille knows that much.

She had seen the boy and his tasty little friends, watching them without their knowledge, seeing red hair spill across a slender back, Camille’s eyes catching on bouncing curls and sleek, black hair paired with a lovely red mouth. Young, pretty girls always taste the sweetest.

The boy is a different story. There’s something very interesting about him; there must be, considering that he caught Magnus’s attention when decades have passed without him expressing any lasting interest in anyone.

The boy might be the key, Camille considers, to something very special.

She orders another drink. She is, after all, here to celebrate.


	3. take a ride, take a shot now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular updates? what are those?
> 
> anyway. this chapter kicked my Ass from start to finish; i found myself stuck in a funk before i was able to finish it; on the bright side, the word count is eight thousand! i'll be honest with you - like y'all, i have no idea where this fic is going but hey at least we're all on an adventure together in this prostitution!au moonlighting as an epic. i felt like the pacing of this chapter was off so if you feel the same way, join me in hell. i tried to do the characters & the plot justice but if you're left feeling unsatisfied, drag my ass in the comments.
> 
> chapter title from portishead's 'sour times'. this is dedicated to [destiny](http://sarasnart.tumblr.com), who manages to force my ass into writing no matter how much i whine about not being able to. she's a star and also a loser and i appreciate her v much; she makes this story possible so give her some love!

Shadowhunters die young.

Magnus has lived long enough to see Shadowhunters – friends and foes alike – walk into the jaws of death and while some of them were afraid, some of them wore their impending death with an air of acceptance.

He is immortal. Becoming close to a people that go to such early graves is unthinkable; many years have passed since he last sought out a friend in a Shadowhunter and once again, Magnus was left the last man standing as someone dear to him was felled in front of his eyes.

No longer is he a boy, if he ever was. The heart hardens when it is made to deal with too much loss and grief and in a life that spans centuries, Magnus knows better than to let himself grow attached to anyone – seelies and mundanes and Shadowhunters alike.

It makes him all the more a fool, he thinks, to let himself feel the faintest affection, but affection is too mild of a word – no, what lives inside of him to eternally attempt to scratch him raw feels much more like the obsession of a madman, driving him to extreme measures he’s never gone to before.

All for a boy, he thinks, certain that Camille would laugh herself sick if she knew. All for a boy.

-

Magnus can’t stay away for long.

His weaknesses have never been a secret among certain circles of the downworlders – he has a taste for the luxurious and the extravagant, but while he may be a collector of ancient artifacts and modern masterpieces, his true downfall has never had a materialistic value.

Camille might go as far as to call it love, the thing that brings him to his knees time and time again, but Magnus has long since accepted that they will never see eye to eye again.

Love has never left him anything but a fool and he has lived long enough to have learned his lesson; it is better to be alone than to be left.

Alec Lightwood has no place in his head or in his heart and yet – and yet, Magnus admits begrudgingly, there is something about that boy that makes Magnus hunger for more of him. It is a peculiar greed, wanting to keep that body for himself but simultaneously desiring to set it free.

Magnus doesn’t allow himself to hesitate as he pulls on a coat, preparing himself for the breeze that’s sure to hit him the second he steps out into the cold, where the dark things live.

 _I wonder if you’ve thought of me_ , he muses quietly, shutting the door behind himself; it would be far easier to send someone to collect Alec for him but there are certain things that Magnus must do by his own hand.

He wonders why it feels more like cowardice than bravery, this craving; by the end of the night, Alec will have condemned him and Magnus will have to abandon all these half-formed fantasies and his growing yearning. One thing and one thing alone has revealed itself to be true over his many long years: Magnus never gets what he wants.

-

The doorbell rings – or, Alec reflects, it would’ve rung if this block wasn’t a hopelessly run-down slab of brick. As things stand, the bell makes a sad whistling noise that Alec only hears because he happens to be exiting the kitchenette adjacent to the hallway, brow furrowing as he tries to remember if Isabelle had invited anyone over today.

Unlikely, in all honesty; she’s been oddly closed off since their night out with Simon and his friends, but Alec sighs as heads to answer the door, expecting a salesman or one of the local born-again Christians to be waiting eagerly to save his soul.

“What?” he snaps as he yanks open the door, the hinges squeaking loudly. The pale light from next door’s exterior lantern spills in across the carpet, across Alec’s bare feet, but whatever the man in front of him may say in response, the words are lost on Alec.

Magnus, Alec thinks, a rush of fury igniting him from the inside. _“You,”_ he seethes, because every time he seems to be putting distance between himself and the fact of Magnus’s existence, he comes crashing back into Alec’s life like he has any right to be there. “Why can’t you just stay away? Leave me alone?”

“If that was an option,” Magnus says, shrugging his shoulders apologetically, “I’d have tried that approach long ago. Now – am I allowed entry, or do you want to squabble with all your neighbors as witnesses?”

 _Bastard_ , Alec thinks, stunned. He seems to always end up at a disadvantage with Magnus, no matter what he does; he doesn’t care about answers anymore. He wants Magnus out of his life.

Liar, he can hear himself thinking. Too much has happened for Alec to let it go. “Why should I trust you with anything?” he scoffs, putting his body in the open doorway, unwilling to let Magnus into the last safe place Alec has left. He already knows too much but then again – then again, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Magnus has all the pieces while Alec is left in the dark.

God, it’s fucked up, the whole thing. Alec had thought that after leaving Pandemonium and realizing, again, that Magnus _did_ something to him…he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d be left alone. Magnus obviously didn’t want Alec to remember him.

“Oh, you shouldn’t,” Magnus tells him, smiling very slightly, as if he’s well aware of the inner machinations of Alec’s mind, as if his struggle is written all across his face. “But I was under the impression that you wanted answers, so here I am. There’s no need to worry. I come bearing gifts.”

“You’re a snake,” Alec spits, his grip on the door frame white-knuckled. “I want nothing to do with you. Whatever your game is, you leave me out of it. You leave _Isabelle_ out of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Magnus eventually replies, and Alec must be imagining the almost guilty look on his face; but it’s the guilt of a man that’s been called out on his lies, not the guilt of someone genuinely remorseful. Alec has always known the difference. “It couldn’t be helped, what I did to her, but-“

He turns on his heel, hands in his pocket, the eerie blue light reflecting off his elaborate earrings, making them shine like diamonds. They could be. “If you want me to leave, I’ll honor that.”

God damn him. “You know what?” Alec retorts, snatching Magnus by the sleeve to drag him inside, slamming the door shut behind them. “Stay. Tell me something I don’t already know or you’re leaving in a body bag.”

It makes Magnus laugh, Alec’s threat, but Magnus has never been normal, has he? Alec can remember the vaguest of things; he remembers that laughter. Things are coming back to him, slowly and in pieces, but nothing can stay buried forever. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” Magnus informs him, “Trust me.”

“Trust you,” Alec echoes, sinking down on the couch and putting his head in his hands, wariness pounding at his temples. “Fuck, what do you _want?_ I’m tired and I’m late and I don’t want to be doing this, alright?”

“ _Such_ a temper.”

“Fuck you.”

Magnus smiles again, slow and benevolent, then asks “Late for what?”

Alec knows better than to turn his back on anyone that isn’t Isabelle, but he escapes Magnus’s prying eyes as he grabs for the coffee pot, pouring two cups on instinct. Hounding Magnus hasn’t worked so far, but maybe this attempt at playing nice will get him something other than metaphors and lies. “My _job_ ,” Alec elaborates, raising a daring eyebrow at Magnus. “In case you’ve forgotten, that’s how we _met_.”

He can’t be sure he’s not imagining things, but there’s a moment where Magnus’s calm features go pinched, a sour curve to his mouth. Jealousy, Alec thinks, doesn’t look good on him. What right does he have to think he has any sort of claim on Alec-?

But he does. He does.

God damn him; Alec’s life has been in uproar since Magnus decided to step into his world, but Alec wonders if it wasn’t him that was sucked into Magnus’s reality, where nothing is what it seems. He chased the white rabbit and here he is, at the bottom of the hole, wondering where to go from here.

“Yes,” Magnus eventually agrees, oddly subdued for a man of his proclivities, smoothing down his elegant suit with his equally elegant fingers. “Quite. I suppose I can’t stand between you and your work, now can I?”

“I don’t need your bullshit,” Alec tells him, rolling his eyes, “Or your condescension.”

“Alec,” Magnus interrupts him, his voice rising just enough that Alec thinks he might actually be getting under his skin; it feels like a hollow victory. “Be at this address at midnight, or don’t be. The choice is entirely yours.”

“For once,” Alec bites out, but Magnus is long gone by the time the words have left Alec’s mouth. The door shudders on its hinges.

-

Isabelle always says that she doesn’t understand Alec, but she reminds him that it doesn’t mean she loves him any less.

Alec doesn’t understand himself either, lately. He doesn’t recognize the person he’s becoming, half-obsessed with something he doesn’t entirely understand, but Magnus Bane has a hold on him that he isn’t certain will be going away any time soon. It’s a strange, hopeless feeling, knowing you’re the prey in a game of cat and mouse, waiting for the right moment to strike back.

Magnus left him a calling card on the coffee table. There’s an address and a number and the whole thing feels more convoluted than it ought to be, but he supposes Magnus enjoys keeping Alec at arm’s length until he decides to reel him back in again.

They’ve met three times – three times that Alec can be sure of, but who’s to say Magnus hasn’t been playing this game for a lot longer than Alec has been aware of it? He shudders to think of it, but it isn’t disgust that travels up his spine at that thought. All that he is has been tainted by Magnus, but something new has come alive, hasn’t it?

Alec wasn’t content, exactly, living this life and living it one day at a time. Unhappy is a strong word, but anyone would want more than this, wouldn’t they? Magnus may have taken and taken and taken, but Alec gets the feeling that tonight, he’s offering something.

Never without a catch, never without a loophole; Magnus plays a masterful game.

He’s done with back alley blowjobs and hurried fucks in cheap cars by the time it’s really starting to get dreary outside, but once he’s standing in his own kitchen, taking a look around, his eyes linger on the card Magnus left for him.

“Damn it,” Alec sighs, rapping his knuckles lightly on Isabelle’s bedroom door, sticking his head in – but he finds her dead asleep, curled up in one of his sweatshirts, her hair wild on the pillow. Her makeup is smudged, like she’s been crying; Alec can’t resist the urge to settle at her side to brush away a stray hair from her cheek, hating the thought of leaving her alone.

She’d understand. She can never hate him for long. “Don’t wait up,” Alec whispers, turning off the hallway light as he leaves.

-

Magnus has good taste.

Alec stares up at the brick and chrome building ahead of him, standing like a monument of old and new, glittering lights shining through the top floor windows. He feels unsure, standing on the sidewalk and warily debating whether or not to go through with this, but in the end, he figures he’s made it this far – one more bad decision can’t possibly cause any more damage than it’s already done.

He wonders where he’d be if Magnus had never taken an interest in him and whisked him away to a world filled with confusion and lies; better off, he reminds himself, taking the steps to the front door two at a time.

All of his mistakes are staring him right in the face, urging him to turn back and let go, but Alec doesn’t want to. Want is a dangerous thing; what he wants has never mattered before.

Magnus opens the door to the penthouse apartment with flourish, looking pleasantly surprised to see Alec waiting on the other side. He’s wearing an elaborate maroon shirt patterned with gold stitching, his eyes lined less sharply than usual; he looks startlingly human, Alec thinks, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he lingers hesitantly in the hallway.

“I’m here,” he states needlessly. “So – what now?”

“A drink,” Magnus says, “Seems prudent. Do come in, Alec. I think this conversation is both long overdue and most necessary.”

Heart pounding, Alec does as he’s told – he steps inside and refuses to feel trapped as the door clicks shut behind him, his pulse racing as Magnus directs him to the living room – a huge space furnished with furniture that’s both avant-garde and old-fashioned, yet somehow managing not to clash. Magnus has always struck him as a man of opposing qualities.

“You wanted to talk,” Alec reminds Magnus as he’s pouring drinks behind the bar, forcing himself to speak past the dryness of his throat. “So talk.”

“That’s not how this works,” Magnus informs him, carrying two martinis and setting them down on the coffee table that separates two dark leather couches, unhurried and relaxed, the master of his domain. “While you may not come for free, neither do I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alec grits out, at a loss. He’s always at a disadvantage with Magnus, no matter his approach. “What’s the matter with you? I deserve answers.”

“That, you do,” Magnus agrees solemnly, “But whether or not you’ve earned them, well, that’s another matter entirely.”

“You _owe_ me.”

Magnus’s eyes flash dangerously and Alec remembers why he should be afraid of this man, but he has spent a large portion of his life being afraid. Now is not the time to be weak.

“I owe you _nothing_ ,” Magnus retaliates, his voice like acid, his eyes lighting up strangely – flashing a color that can’t be human, but Alec can’t let himself focus on that. There are more important things happening here. “Tell me, Alec, what do you believe I owe you? I paid you handsomely for your time, if I recall correctly; our little _tryst_ , while enjoyable, doesn’t leave me indebted to you any further than that.”

The frustration is a living thing where it crawls beneath Alec’s skin, his fists clenching imperceptibly. Magnus will not be swayed by words alone.

“You know me,” Alec says, wondering why those words seem more important spoken aloud than they ever did as quiet thoughts. “You _know_ something about me. I deserve answers.”

“Ah,” Magnus hums, giving Alec his back as he turns to face the windows, his hand reaching for a trinket on coffee table; he holds everything with a certain grace, as if he’s intimately familiar with every groove and scratch in the little round object he holds in his palm. “Yes. I’ve been watching you and let’s not play naive, please-“

He sighs, allowing their eyes to meet briefly. “You know that much.”

“No,” Alec insists, taking a step closer despite the fact that in this moment, Magnus is a venomous creature that’s warning Alec not to approach any further, lest he be attacked. “There’s more to it than that. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

Alec can see Magnus pursing his lips, but despite what he may think, he doesn’t get to dictate what Alec should and shouldn’t do. “You may be used to getting what you want,” he tells Magnus, “But not this time. I’m not walking away until you tell me the truth.”

“What,” Magnus suddenly asks, a sharp smile curving his mouth, “Is the truth worth to you?”

“I don’t understand,” Alec says, but his mouth has suddenly gone dry. Magnus has been playing games with him since day one. He should have been expecting this. “What do you _want_?”

Cool fingers encircle his wrist as a warm mouth descends on Alec’s throat; he shivers under the light scrape of Magnus’s teeth across his pulse, willing himself not to react. “You should know,” Magnus murmurs, “That everything has its price. Nothing is ever given for free. What is the truth worth to you, truly? How far would you go for it?”

 _Bastard_ , Alec thinks hazily, taking a step back to evade Magnus’s searching hands. “I think you know,” he tells Magnus, “But I won’t give you anything until you tell me what I want to know.”

“But of course,” Magnus says, a mocking light behind his eyes, making Alec feel a fool, but his condescension is another attempt to coax Alec into leaving and that, they both know, he won’t do. “I’ll make you a deal then, yes? You stay with me,” Magnus proposes, “Until the weekend is over. You give me what I want and I will, in return, give you what you want. It will be a rather _long_ story,” he informs Alec, “So you might as well stay a while. Think of it as quid pro quo, if you like.”

“Stay with you,” Alec repeats in disbelief, wondering how he always ends up caught in Magnus’s traps and schemes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Alec,” Magnus laughs, “Don’t you trust me?”

 _Never._ “I wish I did,” Alec says, turning away; he doesn’t want to see the victorious gleam in Magnus’s eyes as he admits to that sad little truth, but instead of gloating, Magnus says nothing at all.

-

After an hour spent in stony silence, watching Magnus sipping away at his drink, Alec cracks.

He caves, just like that, sensing Magnus’s quiet amusement, his victory written in the quirk of his mouth. Alec is tired of losing in a game he never volunteered to play, but if he knows one thing, it’s how to play the hand he’s been dealt. He’s been surviving since he was twelve – he can survive this, too.

“I don’t get you,” Alec admits quietly, watching Magnus’s cat-like eyes as they lock on his own. “You keep forcing your way into my life and acting like you _own_ me, but you don’t. All you do is take.”

“Darling,” Magnus scoffs, “I’m hardly the first person to have taken something from you. You have your parents to thank for that.”

Dead silence reigns between them. Alec doesn’t even register the fact that somehow, Magnus slipped up, abandoning his calm facade for a moment, but a moment is enough to bring down even the strongest of empires. It only takes one slip-up.

“What did you say?”

His voice sounds strangled, raw. Alec is staring at Magnus with something ugly and hopeful rising in his throat, but his world has come to a full stop.

It isn’t enough, is it, that Magnus is playing mind games with him – he has to take it too far, too fucking far, and mention the one thing that Alec has been trying his hardest not to think about for as long as he can remember.

Twelve years old and in his second foster home, Alec had been told his parents were nowhere to be found. Twelve years old and bruised below the neck, Alec had forced himself to abandon any fantasies of home. Magnus manages to bring back all those years of yearning and wondering without understanding what he’s done – whatever war they’re waging between them, Magnus just went too far.

“Nothing,” Magnus is quick to say, but before Alec can get a word out, Magnus snaps “Drop it, or you can leave right now with no answers. Is that what you want?”

Forcing himself to remain calm, Alec closes his eyes. He thinks of Isabelle and how she’s the only family he’s ever had and ever needed, reminding himself that Magnus can’t possibly know anything, but Alec can’t shake the feeling that despite logic, Magnus _might._

His pride has never done much for him, so Alec takes a deep breath before standing up rigidly, facing away from Magnus. There’s no point in pushing this any further. Magnus won’t tell him anything unless it’s on his terms and Alec, despite the growing fury, forces himself to let it go – for now.

“I’m done,” Alec tells him, voice surprisingly steady, “Come get me when you’re ready to stop playing games.”

-

He does Isabelle the courtesy of notifying her about being gone for the weekend.

She sounds hoarse over the phone and Alec remembers her smeared lipstick and her smudged eyeliner, his eyes closed as he swallows down something that feels an awful lot like guilt. “Tell me you’re safe,” she asks of him, voice cracking. “Alec, tell me you know what you’re doing.”

“I told you,” he promises her, “I’m fine. I’m just – staying with a friend, that’s all.”

“Liar,” Isabelle murmurs, sounding defeated. “It’s _him_ , isn’t it? You keep going back to him.”

He loves her, but sometimes, Alec thinks their love doesn’t feel the same. He keeps lying to her. He’s no different from Magnus. “Izzy,” he breathes, “This is something I have to do. Please, just – let me. He won’t do anything to me.”

She’s quiet for a long time and at one point, Alec thinks that she’s about to tell him something; she’s been so sad, lately, red-eyed and exhausted, staring at her phone like she’s waiting for something important to happen. He keeps burdening her with his problems, forgetting that she has her own.

She’s quiet for a long time and then, softly, she says “I can’t lose you, do you understand that?”

“Yeah,” Alec replies, after a moment of stunned silence. “I know.”

“Be safe,” Isabelle murmurs; she hangs up on him after a second, but Alec hears her last watery exhale before she’s gone.

There is no such thing as safe in a world where Magnus Bane plays god.

-

Magnus wants to go out.

Alec tells himself that he really shouldn’t be surprised; nothing is impossible in the absurd world that Magnus inhabits, but it feels like a low blow, being told to stay put while Magnus gallivants around town, indulging in whatever pleasures he’s decided to surround himself with on this particular night. “I never said this would be easy,” Magnus points out, shrugging, “Or fair. Do make yourself at home.”

He leaves unceremoniously and Alec remains standing in the hallway, staring at the closed door for a long time. He never seems to win in this endless game of back and forth, wondering for a second why he even keeps trying.

One of Magnus’s cats makes its appearance, purring as it rubs up against Alec’s leg, breaking his momentary trance. “You know what?” Alec says out loud, the cat staring up at him with wide, dark eyes, reminding him somehow of Magnus. “Screw this.”

He shrugs into his jacket and considers, for a moment, leaving entirely. He could go home and settle down on the couch beside Isabelle, spending their night watching a movie together – that’s something they haven’t done in a while, but in the end, Alec decides to come back.

He’ll always come back, won’t he? Magnus has ensured that.

This is a high-end block, the kind of neighborhood where money is everything, so Alec heads down the deserted street until he finds a promising spot – darkly lit, removed from the status and wealth of the upper class. It makes it easy to slide into the skin he’s been living in for years, now, as he leans back against a dumpster and flicks his lighter off and on, watching the flames come closer to licking his fingertips.

If Magnus wants to play, he’ll eventually have to prepare himself for a version where he loses.

What is he doing, Alec wonders, bitter thoughts invading his mind. What could Magnus be doing right now? Is he splayed out on a couch somewhere, surrounded by people begging for his attention, or is he only doing this as a power play – showing Alec that he can walk out at any moment, knowing Alec can’t ever do the same?

Alec hates him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel compelled to always come back, like an obedient dog panting at its master’s feet for scraps of affection.

An hour passes, maybe two. The wind calms down somewhat and allows Alec the luxury of lighting a cigarette without burning his skin, his eyes scanning the cars that come up and down the road, lingering in front of him, most of them departing before Alec can step forward and make his offer.

Finally, there’s a nondescript vehicle parking on the curb, the man in the driver’s seat rolling down the window and asking, in a business-like tone, “How much?”

It’s always felt dirty, this exchange before they get down to business; measuring Alec’s worth in dollar bills, but it’s nowhere near as bad as the actual act. At some point, you get used to it. You have to.

“You in a hurry?” Alec asks, raising an eyebrow as the man fiddles with his seatbelt, opening his wallet – looking at a photo, maybe, of a family that doesn’t know his true colors. 

“Whatever. A blowjob’s gonna cost you a hundred.”

“Fine,” the man agrees, stepping out of the car in pressed pants and a dress shirt, approaching Alec languidly. He doesn’t lay a finger on Alec until they’re safely hidden in the alley, behind the dumpster, an acrid smell in the air around them. It reminds Alec a little bit about the first time, fourteen and terrified, steeling himself for whatever might have happened to him, that night.

He’s not fourteen anymore. He doesn’t get scared out here when he’s working, anymore.

It’s over and done with in fifteen minutes flat and Alec drags himself back to his feet to receive his payment, folding the bills down before shoving them in the pocket of his jeans, saluting the man as he leaves. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Alec calls out flatly, ducking into a public restroom to rinse out his mouth in the aftermath.

He doesn’t exactly feel better, but if Magnus thinks that he can dictate his whereabouts and where he’s allowed to go, Alec has proven him wrong. It still doesn’t make him feel any more satisfied, but he’s not surprised.

The apartment is dark. Magnus is still gone by the time that Alec gets back.

-

Alec must have fallen asleep on the couch, because he’s woken up by the heavy slam of the front door.

It’s past midnight, nearly into the early twilight hours and Magnus is disheveled and exhausted-looking as he throws his coat down onto the love seat, sighing in appreciation as he pours himself a glass of water from the bar. Alec watches him with half-lidded eyes, willing himself into full consciousness as Magnus turns towards him, smiling.

“You have fun?” Alec asks him, not giving Magnus an inch. “Wherever you were?”

“You could say that,” Magnus allows, running fingers absent of their usual rings through his hair, thumb rubbing at the corner of his eye; it smears some of the kohl painted there and it’s such a small thing, such a small gesture, but Alec thinks that it makes Magnus look oddly human. Vulnerable, almost.

“And you?” Magnus returns, as if he’s only asking because it’s the polite thing to do. Alec feels sick to his stomach, fed up with playing these games, and he bluntly says “I found a way to entertain myself, yeah.”

Magnus must sense that there’s more to it than Alec is willing to share, because he saunters over slowly, handing Alec a glass of water that’s ice cold, moisture beading on the sides. “Did you, now,” Magnus breathes, lightning-fast fingers catching Alec’s chin, forcing him to meet Magnus’s eyes as he glares.

He says nothing. Alec lets Magnus lean in close and force a bruising kiss onto his lips, but Magnus goes very still as his tongue licks past Alec’s teeth.

“You come to me,” he hisses, drawing away from Alec in what might be disgust, Magnus’s teeth bared as he stares at Alec in disbelief, “You come to me, tasting like someone else?”

“In case you didn’t know,” Alec says on an exhale, “You don’t _own_ me.”

For a moment, he’s afraid that Magnus will rear back and hit him – he certainly seems furious enough to make that a possibility, but the moment passes quickly, leaving Magnus looking stricken, his jaw clenched. “Were you trying to provoke me, Alec?”

There’s something unspoken at the end, a threat or a promise – but Alec mildly says “Not everything is about you, Magnus,” despite the two of them knowing better. Alec’s life is no longer his.

“No,” Magnus says, his voice dull, “I suppose not.”

Is this jealousy, Alec wonders, or possessiveness? He can’t tell with Magnus. He can never tell with Magnus and it’s driving him crazy, constantly having to wonder what his agenda is, what the end game could be.

As Magnus moves to put distance between them, Alec finds himself reaching for Magnus’s wrist but ending up with his hand; it’s a loose hold, not intended to force, but asking Magnus to pause, for a moment. Alec rarely asks Magnus for his time. “You think you know me,” Alec begins, the words clumsy in his mouth, on his tongue, “But you don’t. I don’t think you want to, because it’s easier to just – have me. I didn’t think you liked things the easy way.”

He eases his grip on Magnus until Alec’s hand has fallen to his side, lowering his eyes so that he doesn’t have to look at Magnus for any longer. The tension keeps building between them until, suddenly, there’s a hand cupping Alec’s jaw, startling him into looking up.

Magnus is an impossible thing when he smiles at Alec like that, as if all is forgiven – as if Alec needs his forgiveness. “You never cease to amaze me, Alec,” Magnus laughs, leaning in close enough that Alec’s heart begins to race.

Magnus doesn’t kiss him again, but he lets his hand linger on Alec’s skin, as if both of them are waiting for the moment the shape of his fingers burns a permanent mark into Alec’s flesh. Alec expects that thought to make him sick, but all it does is soothe.

-

Magnus arranges for Alec to stay in the guest room.

It comes as a strange relief, knowing that while he may be stuck with Magnus for days, Alec will still have some semblance of privacy and space to himself. The first night, he does nothing but stay in his room and avoid Magnus at all costs; the man can’t be trusted, no matter how much Alec wishes differently.

He doesn’t have any illusions about what Magnus wants from him, but Alec won’t be at his beck and call.

The power imbalance is infuriating. Magnus is holding the truth out of his reach in a way that’s almost sadistic, deciding when and where to give Alec the slightest scrap of honesty, but always for a price.

That first night, Alec sleeps in fits, unable to quite relax. Magnus leaves him alone for the day and for hours on end, Alec occupies himself with the numerous books that Magnus has lining his shelves - it makes for good reading and a subtle insight into who Magnus really is, beneath the posturing and the lies.

He requests Alec to join him for dinner. The sun has set in the horizon as Alec sits himself down across from Magnus at the long, mahogany table that decorates his dining room – the walls are lined with paintings that depict every act from intercourse to beheading and Alec can’t help but feel as if he’s being watched by the lifeless eyes of the living and the dead, uncomfortably shifting in his seat.

Magnus notices. He notices everything. “Is something the matter?” he asks mildly, quirking an eyebrow at Alec that says everything that Magnus won’t; there’s a quiet air of amusement to him that makes Alec feel like a fly caught in an intricate web, waiting helplessly to be devoured.

“Yeah,” he mutters, picking at his steak, “Your place is creepy. _You’re_ creepy.”

“Now, now,” Magnus laughs, taking a generous sip of his wine, gesturing for Alec to do the same, “That’s no way to treat your host, now is it? I’d have thought you’d enjoy a little bit of culture.”

Alec won’t take the bait. He’s not here to bicker or argue. “Can we just-?” he says, voice flat, stabbing at the meat on his plate. “Can we just eat, Magnus? I don’t feel like talking.”

“So don’t talk,” Magnus suggests, “Listen, for once. I may have a roundabout way of doing things, but a deal is a deal. Ask me anything you want.”

He doesn’t promise to be truthful but Alec doesn’t have time for trivialities. “My parents,” he says, eyes darting to Magnus’s face, gauging his reaction. “Where are they?”

Magnus must think it very interesting, Alec infers, that he’d ask about where they are rather than who they are. He must not know a lot about family.

“Ah, yes,” Magnus muses, shrugging one shoulder carelessly. “Buried, I’d imagine, considering they died long ago.”

Alec’s fork clatters to the plate, his heart stuck in his throat. He stares at Magnus in disbelief and finds nothing but a wary expectation behind Magnus’s eyes; as if he expects Alec to resent him for this harsh truth, but all Alec can muster in response to that revelation is a raspy “How – how did they die?”

“Alec,” Magnus says, his eyes reflecting something ancient as he rises to his feet, walking along the length of the table until he can place one hand on Alec’s shoulder, fingers squeezing subtly. “You’re not ready for the truth but I promise you this – I will give you that story when you can handle it.”

“I don’t trust you,” Alec whispers, but he lets Magnus pull him to his feet; whatever he was expecting next, being held tightly in Magnus’s embrace wasn’t something he could ever have prepared himself for.

“No,” Magnus agrees softly, “No, darling, you don’t.”

-

The problem with Magnus is this: every time Alec thinks he has him figured out, Magnus yanks the rug out from beneath his feet, leaving him reeling. He’s an endless mystery, as elusive as he is impossible, but in the lonely hours after midnight, Alec wonders what it would be like to break Magnus open and truly understand him.

-

That night, Alec finds himself sleepless.

Magnus left him alone once their dinner concluded and after that, Alec took solace in the silence of the guest room, aimlessly searching for some evidence that Magnus is _real_. He carries himself with an otherworldly grace, but he evades every attempt that Alec makes at discovering more about him.

He shouldn’t care. Alec should walk away the moment that Magnus gives him what he wants, but as he twists and turns in the exquisitely soft sheets, Alec realizes that he’s not quite ready to walk away.

Hours pass. Eventually, he leaves the room, finding himself standing in front of the windows in the living room, shirtless and barefoot.

The peace isn’t broken as much as momentarily disturbed by Magnus’s voice; Alec doesn’t startle when Magnus says “May I join you?”

He must surprise them both as he says “Yeah. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t understand you,” Magnus tells him, the moonlight pouring over his skin, making Magnus glow. Alec has a hard time tearing his eyes away as Magnus smiles at him, slowly and softly, letting Alec dictate the distance between them. “I seem to slight you at every turn and yet, you’re forgiving.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Alec replies, glancing down at the floor. It’s hard to look at Magnus in these quiet, honest hours, the darkness offering a safety net for their bodies to land on. “I just-“

_I just don’t want to be alone._

Elegant fingers dance a path up Alec’s spine, making acquaintance with each and every vertebrae; Alec does not shiver when Magnus’s hand caresses the back of his neck, but a soft sigh leaves his lips when delicate fingernails scratch across his scalp, delving in deeply to grip his hair. “What are you doing to me?” Alec asks on a breath of hollow laughter, but there’s nothing funny about this. There’s never been anything funny about this.

Magnus kisses his neck. Magnus turns Alec’s head to mouth at his jaw, fingers caressing his scalp all the while, and – _god help me,_ Alec thinks, _he’ll never let me go._

“Do you want me to stop?”

Alec doesn’t trust him. Alec doesn’t believe a single word out of Magnus’s mouth.

Alec gives him his answer with a kiss.

Magnus relinquishes control – briefly, so briefly, but he allows Alec to tug at his lower lip with his teeth, his hands all over Magnus as Alec presses him up against the cool glass of the windows, their breathing gone shallow.

Alec draws back to look at Magnus, _wanting._

He wants with all his heart and the freedom of admitting it is terrifying. Magnus may lie to him but Alec feels that when he’s with Magnus, there’s no need for illusions. The beauty of it is the choice – Magnus may owe him nothing but Alec isn’t another body to him, is he? Choosing to lay himself bare is Alec’s choice.

He wants, but this isn’t the time. Magnus seems to reach the same conclusion as he tips his head back against the window and sighs, his breath hot against Alec’s cheek. 

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, wetting his lips, “It would be best to slow down, for now.”

“Can I,” Alec begins to say, but doubt overcomes him before he can finish the question. Rather than ask about it, Magnus offers him a smile, thumbing at Alec’s lower lip as he says “Come to bed with me?”

The words are absent their usual innuendo and Alec doesn’t dare to breathe until he sees something soften in Magnus’s features, his eyes dark and deep as their gazes meet. 

“Whatever you may think of me,” Magnus tells him, “Don’t you ever believe you have no choice with me.”

Alec wants to believe that and in that moment, he does – for one moment only, maybe, but this has never been a smooth ride. “Tell me more,” he requests, “In the morning.”

“Wake me with a kiss,” Magnus says, voice breathless with laughter, “And I just might.”

-

Alec slides beneath soft sheets, his back turned to Magnus. There are conversations that they need to have, but for now, just for tonight, he lets it go. Words are all they seem to have, sometimes, but Alec lays in the dark and feels suffocated by the silence until Magnus splays a hand out across his stomach, whispering “I wish I knew how to be honest with you,” and Alec understands that for Magnus, those soft words are meant as an apology.

-

Alec doesn’t dream much, nowadays. He wakes with no remembrance of what his subconscious self might have done in that space between wakefulness and black sleep, but when awareness comes to him like the rays of morning sunshine upon his back, Alec wonders if he might still be sleeping.

There are open-mouthed kisses being pressed chastely to his back, across his shoulder-blades, fingers tapping a soft rhythm down his spine. Magnus is warm and smooth-skinned beside him, his eyes open when Alec finally meets his gaze.

Magnus smiles at him, slow and playful, something serenely beautiful about him without any of his walls up. Alec has never seen him this exposed before and he murmurs “Stop that,” as Magnus finds a particularly sensitive spot, his fingers stilling where they’ve been caressing Alec’s ribs.

“Well, good morning,” Magnus chuckles, resuming his little touches without taking heed of Alec’s warning, “You kept me waiting.”

“Did I, now?”

“Yes,” Magnus laments, humming low in his throat as Alec moves a little closer, their noses bumping just so. “I’m not a patient man, Alec. You know that.”

This can’t last. This peaceful place they’ve built overnight is bound to come crumbling down once Alec remembers that Magnus has been lying to him since day one, but for now –

For now, he takes Magnus’s hand in his own and presses a kiss to the center of his palm, looking at Magnus from beneath his eyelashes. Alec can feel Magnus’s rapid-fire pulse beneath his tongue, Alec’s mouth open against the inside of one slender wrist.

Magnus makes him want things he’s never wanted before. Magnus is unearthly when he looks at Alec like that.

The moan that he draws from Magnus with the next kiss – one that leaves a bruise an inch above Magnus’s collarbone – is low and breathless, the noise of it like the murmur of a lover’s name; Alec’s name.

“Tell me,” Alec demands, his hands framing Magnus’s face, their chests pressed together as Alec slides between Magnus’s thighs. “Tell me something true. Tell me something _real_.”

“I want you,” Magnus gasps, his throat bared to Alec as his mouth descends upon fragile skin, leaving a mark. “Alec–“

 _Is that all,_ Alec thinks, a quiet despair building behind his ribs, his mouth softening where it travels Magnus’s throat – _is that all,_ he thinks, wondering why it isn’t enough.

A hand on his chest brings him back to reality; it brings him back to Magnus’s open mouth and liquid eyes, Alec’s heartbeat pounding beneath the palm that rests just below his sternum, as if searching for vital signs. “You,” Magnus proclaims on a deep breath, his head falling back sharply, “Have changed everything and you don’t even realize it, do you?”

“Don’t say that,” Alec breathes, “This time – let’s not say anything, please.”

Magnus listens to him, for once, quieting down as Alec dares to pin his wrists, teeth scraping over thin skin and fragile veins, aware of the way that Magnus’s breath catches. It’s unholy, the way he arches as Alec traces steady fingers across his cock, watching the way that Magnus’s expression goes tight and restrained, as if he has any reason to hold back – Alec doesn’t want that. He’s never wanted that.

“Show me,” he demands, opening Magnus’s thighs wider, thumbs pressing into his skin, aching to bruise. “Show me everything.”

It’s difficult, being with Magnus, but for a little while, everything feels easy. It’s easy to lean down and kiss him; easy to slide his fingers through Magnus’s hair and across his throat, feeling the hummingbird flutter of his pulse when Alec sucks a bruise into Magnus’s neck.

Magnus moans for him, low and tight, his hands exploring Alec’s back with fervor, nails digging in. No matter what, he seems determined to leave a mark, proving that he was there. “Let me,” Alec breathes, eyes closed, his forehead resting against Magnus’s trembling stomach, “This time, will you let me-?”

“Yes,” Magnus promises, reverent fingers grasping Alec’s shoulders, rolling them over smoothly; this way, the sunlight hits Magnus in a way that makes him look painfully beautiful, a dozen imperfections painting him softer than Alec has ever seen him before. It makes him ache, sharp and sudden.

“Alec?” Magnus asks, his weight in Alec’s lap grounding him to reality, “We don’t have to-“

“No,” Alec tells him, shaking his head, leaning up just enough to bring their lips together, his eyes open all the while. “I want to.”

Magnus is looking at him as if he’s said something profound, but Alec doesn’t want to see that honesty painted across his face, brightening his eyes. He wants to surround himself with Magnus and stay between these sheets for a long time, but this is all they have. “Please,” Alec finds himself saying, breathing raggedly. “Please.”

He expects frenzied touches, but Magnus takes his time, making Alec’s stomach clench with an unbearable anticipation, his hands helplessly running across Magnus’s skin as he opens the bedside drawer, his smiling mouth held only an inch away from Alec’s as Magnus leans down towards him.

Alec has been so careful over the years – careful not to trust the wrong people and not to open himself up to anyone that might take advantage, but Magnus is changing everything. He’s stepped into Alec’s life without any intention of leaving, but Alec can’t figure out what it is that he really wants. He wanted answers, he wanted Magnus gone, he wanted something he can’t name, but Alec is afraid that if he asked, Magnus would give it all to him.

He’s proven one thing: whatever Alec is feeling, Magnus returns those feelings without restraint, without caution, his explosive heart set on Alec.

He’s not a perfect man, far from it. Magnus is flawed and selfish and greedy, but Alec loses himself in his skin and in his mouth, drawing moans from them both, his heartbeat frenzied where it pounds beneath Magnus’s adoring fingers, their ragged breathing filling up the room.

It’s not without hesitation, the way that Alec wordlessly asks Magnus for whatever honesty he can offer, but Magnus closes his eyes and hisses through his teeth as he lets himself be open, just this once, his thighs trembling and flexing as Alec presses bruising kisses against his throat, opening Magnus up on his fingers, the pace driven to something ruthless when Magnus bares himself to Alec’s eyes, leaning back and gasping for breath.

Tomorrow, this won’t be theirs anymore – tomorrow, their world will return to normal, but Alec lets himself forget about that as Magnus clings to him, fingers digging into Alec’s back, his body warm where it welcomes Alec, as if saying _you’re finally here; I’ve been waiting._

-

Jace Herondale will run the Institute one day.

He understands that it would be the highest honor awarded to any Shadowhunter, especially one of his age and standing, but understanding doesn’t equal desire. Jace has no interest in the politics and management of the Institute. He was taken in and he was raised by the best fighters to ever have trained here, but a part of him has always longed for more – or, he muses, a half-smirk playing across his lips, _less._

Lydia would never understand his reasoning but she never has to. Despite their differences, they make a remarkably good team.

A brief guilt pangs through him, there and then gone; they’ve made a remarkably good team ever since John’s passing. He knows what’s expected of them, now. Lydia is capable and one of the most valuable Shadowhunters of her generation, but Jace can’t fathom taking her hand in his own, trapping them both in a marriage that would ultimately be a loveless one.

It’s like she told him, once – “I may be ambitious,” and there had been a smile on her lips, a playful gleam in her eyes as she continued, “But even I want more than power. There’s no point in being a leader if you have nothing to fight for.”

That woman is as clever as the devil and twice as pretty, but Jace will never marry her. Neither one of them deserves that.

“Jace,” he hears someone call out across the room, but Jace allows himself another minute to improve his skills at kendo before he wipes his forehead and turns around, raising an eyebrow at Hodge. The man stands in front of him with his arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable with what Lydia has undoubtedly sent him to do. She’s always been good at picking her battles.

“What’s up?” Jace asks, but Hodge gestures for them to speak privately; after spending years alongside the man, Jace can read him very well. He allows himself a moment to wipe down before he heads after Hodge, being led into a room where Lydia is conferring with someone over the phone – she sounds irate, expression pinched. As she slams the receiver down, taking a deep breath, Jace steels himself for whatever she needs him to do.

“Jace,” Lydia says and never in a thousand years could Jace have predicted what she comes to say next; “We think we’ve found the Mortal Cup.”


End file.
